


Padfoot’s Guide to Filmography

by Frumpologist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual men, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Polyamory, Voyeurism, alcohol use, explicit sexual situations, just a lot of unapologetic filth you guys I’m not sorry, sirius lives au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-08 16:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/pseuds/Frumpologist
Summary: Sirius has a habit of filming everything and Hermione discovers all the uses he and Remus have with their brand new camcorder.





	Padfoot’s Guide to Filmography

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for The Restricted Section’s Kinktober Fest. I chose Voyeurism and got to choose my triad/+ characters. Thank you to the mods who are running the fest -- I love you ladies!
> 
> My unending, eternal, and BIG MOOD love to the glorious **MrsRen** for her alpha and beta eyes. You are a legend, darling! 
> 
> **Prompt:** 5\. Voyeurism

A camera zooms in on her face. It’s older now, the maturity of near-thirty settling nicely on her complexion. She’s not quite old enough to have wrinkles, but her laugh lines are solid and map the recent past that’s filled with fun, mischief, and so many laughs. She narrows her eyes, but a little smirk climbs up one side of her face.

“Sirius!” she chastises almost playfully. “I didn't buy that for your birthday so that you could terrorize me with it.”

Sirius snaps the video camera to the side and stares at her. “It’s an unspoken acceptance, love. If you live here, you’re subject to my whims.”

“You’re incorrigible.” She shakes her head, and her thick ringlets settle over her shoulders. “Can’t you put that to better use? Maybe make a documentary or record your godson’s upcoming wedding?”

Sirius sighs, exaggerated eye roll aimed right at her. “Why can’t I just do all of that? You make an exceptional subject, Miss Granger.” He flicks the camera back onto record and the red light draws her gaze. “Tell us about you. Who is the real Hermione Granger?”

She levels him with a stare and crosses her arms. Eyebrows nearly make a home out of her hairline. “Do you really want to find out?”

“Mmhm.” Sirius presses his lips together and nods. “I bet under all that academia and success, there’s a pixie waiting to get out and cause mayhem. Tell me.” He perches himself on the old, rose-patterned sofa and kicks his dragonhide boots on the table. “Are you a top or a bottom?”

Her jaw hangs open. Face crumples into a dangerous glare. “I am  _ not _ discussing this with you, and especially not on camera, Sirius. Circe!”

“My galleons are on top.” A new voice enters the room and Sirius’ camera whips around to take in the tall, muscular form of one Remus Lupin. His black vee neck tee hugs every curve of his body as he leans against the door frame and crosses his ankles. “She likes control. And those hips—”

She blushes as his stare wanders from her legs slowly up her body. “Remus, would you not encourage this, please?”

He chuckles and pushes himself away from the door frame. “Sorry, love. I know better, but it’s just so much fun to watch that blush on your face.” He leans down and kisses her on the cheek quickly before walking to Sirius. “And you. Stop trying to scare off our housemate, will you?”

Remus pushes the camera in Sirius’ hand down to waist level and then lays a hand softly against the side of his face. When their lips meet, Hermione blushes regardless that she’s witnessed their affectionate relationship for months since she’d moved in. It never fails to send shocking jolts through her though, and while she knows that it’s entirely inappropriate to lust after the godfather of her best friend and a former professor… she can’t help how it sends lustful sparks up her spine.

A noise, a groan of a growl, filters through the room. Sirius’ hands wrap into Remus’ hair and the camera falls to the sofa, entirely forgotten. Hermione sighs, crosses her arms, and turns toward the kitchen. She’ll need a strong cuppa to get her through the night. As she’s walking away, she can hear the barking laugh of Padfoot, and Remus scolding the wizard for sending her running away  _ again _ .

* * *

There are no Silencing Charms in the world strong enough to keep Hermione from hearing the feral noises coming from the room next door. Cushioning Charms. Egg Cartons with Sticking Charms. Ear plugs. She even tries to turn on the WWN to drown out the way that Sirius groans Remus’ name and the sound of the pounding headboard against her wall.

It’s no use.

Instead, Hermione decides on yet another coffee and pads from her bedroom quietly to the stairs. When she crosses in front of their door, she chews her lip. Slapping bodies, breathy pants, squeaking springs — Merlin, had they even used  _ any _ charms at all to keep her from hearing their private bedroom revels?

She realizes that she’s standing there for far too long, listening to the sounds of their lovemaking -- was it lovemaking when she could hear Remus begging Sirius to go harder? Hermione startles as her face flushes red with heat, and she lunges down the steps two at a time until she’s on the lower level of the home and far removed from the noises that were keeping her up all night.

Her hand wraps desperately around a mug of coffee so dark and so strong that it could be confused for tarrish sludge rather than a delicious and necessary shot of caffeine and comfort. She’s perched on a chair with a foot folded under her bum, sipping at the steaming mug, when a shirtless Remus steps into the kitchen with a massive grin on his face.

He doesn’t seem to notice her, no blush and mumble about being shirtless nor keeping her away, no care at all as her eyes rove over his brick-like build. Tan and scarred, edged with definition over his hips and corded muscles in his back. Remus Lupin is a beautiful man with just a shade of wild darkness about him that piques her interest enough to keep her gaze fixed on his low-riding pajamas. She shouldn’t, but she does anyway, feeling the heat of desire lick her core.

It isn’t until Sirius joins Remus, only wearing black pants as he slips behind and wraps his arms around his waist, that either of them speak.

“That was quite the punishment for my being a sod,” Sirius whispers into Remus’ ear. He receives a growl in response as Remus shifts in his hold and faces him.

  
Whatever Remus is about to say dies on his lips. His gaze meets Hermione’s and even in the sliver of waxing moonlight, she can see the apples of his cheeks darken. Hermione sets her mug down onto the table and the unmistakable clanking sound pulls Sirius’ attention to her with a start.

“Oh. Morning, love,” he greets her without a care in the world and a dashing smile. He steps aside and wraps one arm around Remus’ waist, tossing a cheeky wink at her. “It’s morning, yes? Why is everyone so tense? I, for one, feel fucking fantastic.”

“It’s  _ one o’clock _ in the morning,” she says pointedly, fingers flexing over the warm mug in her hand. “And you seem to have forgotten your Silencing Charms tonight.”

Remus pulls his lip between his teeth and stares at the floor. “Sorry, love.” His eyes meet hers again and he tests a tentative smile. “We were a little carried away with the new gift that you gave to Padfoot for his birthday.”

Her face flames, stomach clenches, excitement floods her. Oh, Merin, they recorded themselves having sex. Oh,  _ Circe _ , but that’s information she never needed to know. “Right. I’m popping to bed. Just — if you two continue that circus in your room, could you please use the charms tonight? I have a very big day tomorrow with Harry’s stag do.”

“Best get all the sleep you can now,” Sirius chuckles as he rests his head against Remus’ shoulder. “If Harry’s stag night is anything like James’, you’ll be—”

“I still think it’s odd that you’re the best man,” Remus says quietly, bumping his hip into Sirius and shooting a  _ look _ in his direction that Hermione couldn’t discern. “Shouldn’t Ron be his best man?”

“Ron is on assignment.” Hermione shrugs as she stands from the table and squeezes beside them to put her mug into the sink. “Horrible timing to be sent off so close to the wedding, but nothing can be done about it. I’ll make a better best man anyway. I’ve already created a seating chart and—”

Sirius snorts, but Remus elbows him.

“You’ll do a brilliant job, Hermione.” Remus smiles at her, a warm and encouraging thing that settles nicely against all of her nerves. “We’ll be there to help, too.”

“Right, thanks.” She fixes her hair into a messy bun atop her head and slips from the kitchen to leave them alone in whatever post-coital glory they were seeking.

* * *

“Weeeeee will take the bachelor home,” Sirius sings with his arm slung around Harry’s neck. A jovial feeling flutters amongst them all, but more than the proud godfather as he spins his godson around in a circle. “Remus! Fetch the chariot!”

“Sirius,” Hermione laughs his name, the swirling fog of firewhiskey settling nicely in her mind and combatting all of her more motherly instincts. “If you spin him in any more circles,  _ I’m  _ going to vomit.”

  
Harry groans and runs a hand through his hair. “And if she vomits, I vomit.”

“And if they both vomit,” Remus calls as he walks away toward ‘the chariot’, “I’m leaving you to clean them both up because it was your rotten idea to have a drinking contest with them.”

Sirius barks a laugh, but stops twirling Harry around in circles, for which Hermione is eternally grateful as she straightens her vision and blinks away the dizziness.

  
“You sure you’ll be okay in Grimmauld all alone, love?” Sirius leans forward and presses their foreheads together. Harry’s messy locks splay across her shoulder as his head plops against it. “My mother can be quite the cow to you.”

“Oh, it’s no bother,” she smirks as she brandishes her wand and steps away when the sound of a powerful engine approaches them. “Walburga and I will simply shout at one another until I can get those blasted curtains closed again.”

“Merlin, it’s so hot when you disparage my mother.” Sirius’ breath fans across her cheeks and she laughs as she pulls back from him with a flourishing gesture toward Remus. “Your chariot awaits!”

Remus sits on a black and silver motorbike. It rumbles between his legs and Hermione has to drag her gaze from the apex of his thighs to his very dark and very knowing gaze. She bites down hard on the inside of her cheek and waves as Sirius drags Harry toward him. She watches as Harry is strapped into the sidecar and laughs when Sirius plops a helmet on his head.

“You lot be safe. Remus?” Hermione forces her stare to his and tries to put on her most strict expression. “Do  _ not _ let let him fly.”

“Aye, aye, Captain Granger.” Sirius offers her a rude two-finger salute, but Remus gives her a serious nod while he isn’t looking.

If she had any sense about her at all, Hermione would place a tracking charm on the damn motorbike just in case somehow they all end up in Fiji. Alas, the bike takes off toward the sky before she’s able to swish her wand in a movement that wouldn’t explode them all.

Right. Apparating home.

Inebriated.

She takes a deep breath, clearly pictures the stoop of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, steps forward, and spins.

The world crushes her in darkness and she’s sure she’s going to vomit when she lands on the stoop and uses the door frame to steady herself.

“Right. Horrible idea, Hermione. Should have asked them to drop you off before heading to Godric’s Hollow. Hindsight is the bloody devil.” She doesn’t stop talking to herself until she’s in the house with the door locked and warded behind her.

Thankfully, as she tiptoes past Walburga’s portrait, the old bat doesn’t make a peep and allows Hermione to pass in peace. She takes the steps two at a time, she thinks, and uses the wall as support against her shoulder the entire way to the top.

Too much to drink is entirely to blame when she makes it to the top of the stairs and turns the wrong way. Hermione opens a door that’s not hers without even realizing that’s she’s walking into a room that smells entirely the opposite to her own. Sex lingers in the air here, coupled with a pure animalistic smell. She squeaks as her eyes land on rumpled sheets and discarded boxers. Her hand flies to her eyes as if that’s going to stop her from knowing exactly where she’s at and what happens here.

“Bollocks, bollocks, bugger, and shit.” Hermione bounces from foot to foot rather gracelessly and swings her hand behind her to find the door. Instead, she slams it shut and stumbles back into it with her hand falling away from her eyes.

Somewhere in the back of her drunken mind is a voice that calls out to her and tells her to leave. She ignores it promptly and pushes from the door when her eyes land on a small camcorder that’s hooked up to an old telly. It won’t hurt to have a peek, she reasons. After all, Sirius had recorded them a few days back, and if she can figure out the controls, she can delete herself.

The only person in the world who believes this lie is a pissed Hermione Granger.

She steps slowly, as if afraid to alert someone to her presence, and approaches the small telly and the camcorder. Her finger presses into the power button on the telly and the camera, and she gasps for effect, as if to say, ‘oh no, how did that happen?’ And then she laughs at herself, because she’s being ridiculous.

The screen of the TV roars to life. Sound on high.

Moans fill the room. Deep, hoarse noises that she recognizes immediately. Then the telltale sound of naked bodies slamming into one another. She closes her eyes, plugs her ears, and turns from the telly.

No, she can’t do this. It’s wrong. It’s an invasion of privacy and entirely against all of her morals. She can’t and she won’t. Hermione takes a step away and her knee hits the edge of the bed. She’s sitting on it before she can stop herself. Through the gaps in her fingers, she can see a long, toned torso connected to rounded hips.

A breath leaves her, hot and sharp, as her hands drop away from her eyes.

Sirius, long and lean, is buried inside Remus from behind. His pelvis inches back and slams forward. And then he’s curled over Remus’ back.

“Fuck, Moony, you feel so fucking good.” Gravely, worshipful, the words jolt straight to Hermione’s core. She watches him bite the edge of Remus’ shoulder, and they both groan in tandem. 

The guttural noise turns her brain to mush. She lifts her legs onto the bed and slides backward until she’s more comfortable. Completely ignoring that she’s sitting right where Remus on the telly is getting pummeled. Instead, her fingers laze about at the hem of her skirt, inching the fabric higher until she can easily slip them between her legs.

“Need to fuck you,” Remus growls, and Hermione finds herself gasping a ‘yes’ in response. 

Her core clenches on her fingers and her hips jerk as Remus flips them over and slides into Sirius. They pause for a moment, but Hermione’s eyes flutter closed as she drags her fingers through her wet folds and moans their names.

“You’re so tight.” Their noises fill the room and Hermione’s fingers speed up over her clit. She imagines that they’re with her, that the words Remus rasps to Sirius are meant for her.

“Touch yourself. Yes, just like that. Fuck, you’re so hot like this.”

She moans, legs clenching around her hand. Hermione swipes her thumb once and slides two fingers inside of herself with a cry.

“Come for me, love,” Remus all but begs Sirius, “I’m going to come for you. Yes, just. like. that.”

Heavy pants fill the room, and Hermione’s join them. She lies back on the bed to try and gain her bearings. It’s easily the best orgasm she’s ever had and she can’t catch her breath.

Before she can even consider what it is she’s done, sleep claims her.

* * *

When her eyes flutter open, slow and entirely against her better judgement, the first thing Hermione notices is that her soft, rose colored curtains are wide open. Why would she do this to herself? After a night of drinking, surely she would have thought ahead and closed the curtains to avoid the blinding, brilliant sunlight currently filtering into her room. Whatever the case, she grumbles as she sits on the edge of the bed and covers her eyes with her hand.

She’s still wearing her clothes from the night before. Crikey; she must have been pissed as hell to not even change into her pajamas before crawling into bed. She gasps.

It all comes back to her like a brick to the face. She never came to bed. She fell asleep on Sirius and Remus’ bed. Then how did she… Her hand falls from her eyes and cover her mouth.

  
“Oh, look Moony.” Sirius steps into her line of vision and ducks his head down to catch her eyes with his. “Looks like she’s remembered what it is she did last night.”

_ No. _

“I do believe she’s blushing, Padfoot.” Remus moves to Sirius’ side, his voice deep and gravelly and riddled with sleep. She glances up at them through long lashes, unable to force the blush off her cheeks. “Good morning, Hermione.”

“Morning,” she whispers, lips barely moving. “Did… how did I get… here?”

“That’s an excellent question,” Sirius answers and flashes her a cheeky wink before he glances to Remus. “Where did you say you found her?”

“You know, it was the strangest thing.” Remus’ fingers touch her chin and he lifts it up so that she’s made to hold his gaze. 

Her face blazes. She’s in so much trouble. She tries to think about all of the things she’ll need to pack up with her, and where she’ll need to go, who has a spare room for her and the numerous books that she’s collected over the years. Tears unwittingly spring to her eyes, and Remus is quick to swipe them away with the thumb of his other hand.

“I came home because I was worried about her,” he continues as if she’s not sitting right there, meeting his hot stare, “and when I poked my face into her room, it was empty.” His eyes darkened and she swore she could see a shadow pass through his gaze. “I was worried, of course.”

“Of course,” Sirius answers, taking a seat on the bed next to Hermione and leaving no room between their thighs. “Our Hermione would never wander off into places that she shouldn’t be without telling us first, would she?”

Remus shakes his head, but doesn’t take his eyes from her. There’s a delicious heat coiling inside of her, but Hermione tries to ignore it. Now is not the time.

“She wouldn’t,” he finally agrees. Remus slips his fingers from her chin, along her jaw, and then traces a line down the side of her neck. He flicks her hair off her shoulder, revealing a long, slender expanse of tan skin. She swears her pulse jumps out of her throat when his eyes dip there and back again. “So, I went to our room to grab a few bits, ready to scour London for our little witch… but, imagine my surprise when she was lying asleep on our bed.”

“Surprise, indeed,” Sirius whispers, somehow closer to her ear than she’d thought. His fingers are on her knee drawing little patterns into her bare skin. She only just realizes that he’s moving them higher and higher with every slight movement.

“Even more shocking—” Remus steps closer, knees pressing against the edge of the bed between her legs. Fingers trailed along her shoulder and down her arm. “The telly was on. Your camcorder hooked into it.”

“Our very personal, private camcorder,” Sirius reminds her, his breath hot in her ear. She swears she can feel his teeth lightly graze the lobe, but she dare not move. “I wondering, Moony — what did the room  _ smell _ like?”

She swallows. Her mouth is so dry, but her knickers are so wet. Like every bit of hydration she had, has flooded her core. Hermione tries to close her eyes, but Remus forces her gaze to him again.

“You and I, of course,” Remus says, eyes glinting in a way that has nothing to do with the sunlight blaring into the room. “And something… sweet, like Hermione when she’s randy.”

Sirius gasps. Hermione knows it’s fake, practiced. They know exactly what they’re doing to her and she doesn’t even want to stop them. She’s reeling with Sirius’ hand halfway up her thigh and Remus’ knee pressed between her legs.

“What do you think she was doing in our room?” Sirius asks, lips drop to her throat but he doesn’t kiss her there. His breath fans against the sensitive skin and goosebumps cover her body. Hermione presses her thighs together even as his expert fingers glide up the valley between her legs.

“I know exactly what she was doing in our room.” Remus trails his fingers from her chin down the front of her throat. “Hermione, do you want to confess to Sirius what you were doing in our room last night?”

Her breath stutters, heart stops, and something crazed floods her nerves. With wide, apologetic eyes, she stares at Remus and releases a sharp breath as she shakes her head. No, she can’t possibly say it out loud.

“Would you like me to tell Sirius what you did?” He flashes her a dashing, core-clenching smile. “Or, perhaps, I could…” His fingers dip past her jugular notch, and graze along her skin until they reach the top of her blouse. “...show him instead?”

Her first instinct is to say yes, and then she immediately worries that perhaps she’s still drunk. But Sirius’ fingers are paused so close, so far, and the heat pouring off them both is so intoxicating that she thinks she might just be drunk on them.

“Say no and we’ll stop immediately,” Remus promises her, fingering the top button of her blouse. It’s almost playful, but then the the way his throat constricts and bobs tells her that he’s also nervous for her answer.

Hermione blinks and turns her eyes to Sirius. He offers her nothing more than a smirk and a sharp, warm breath against her neck.

She nods.  _ Yes _ ,  _ please, yes _ .

“I need you to be vocal, love.”His fingers caress the skin between her breasts, but no more.

He had given her every opportunity to say no, but she’s heady and flushed and tingling all over. Before she can even consider that there are so many reasons to say no, she says, “yes” and it leaves her like a plea, falling from her lips in desperation.

Without any warning, he plows through the buttons on her blouse, sending the little circles flying in every direction around the room. Sirius’ fingers resume their path toward her knickers, easily slide them to the side, and apply just the right amount of pressure to her clit to draw out a long, needy hiss from her lungs. Her bra is gone in an instant and a hot mouth attaches to her nipple. She can’t breathe, or maybe she’s breathing too much; she’s dizzy with lust for them, sensations coiling and tightening a knot in her belly.

“Tell me, Hermione,” Sirius rasps just shy of her ear, “did your fingers slide through your cunt like this?” He nips at the sensitive skin of her neck and sucks on it so hard she can feel the bruises she’ll have later. Her hips jerk towards his hand and he dips two fingers inside of her. “Did you rub your thumb here?” She moans as he applies pressure to her clit. “Or did you tease yourself like this?”

As she loses herself to Sirius, Remus’ tongue does wicked things to her breasts. Nipping, licking, sucking, alternating between the two with his thick, hot tongue. Her thighs clamp around Sirius’ hand while her own hand snakes around Remus’ neck and holds the back of his head to her body while she grinds her hips into the hand between her legs.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” Sirius has left a trail of bites along her neck and growls against her skin when he hits a particularly sensitive spot and she moans his name. “Moony, I can’t wait much longer. She’s soaking and I’m going to fucking come in my pants.”

Remus snorts against her and pulls away, despite her protests to keep him precisely where he’s at. “Lie back on the bed and pull your skirt up.”

She follows his instructions and arranges herself at the center of the bed. Not sure how to lay, she keeps her legs pressed together. Sirius dashes from the room without a word and she lifts herself onto her elbows.

“Where’d he—”

But she didn’t even finish her sentence as he came skidding into the room, trousers already lost along the way, shirt flying over his head, and a camcorder in his hand. Her eyes widen as Remus, naked and hard, kneels at her side. She’s about to tell Sirius to put that bloody thing away, but Remus’ mouth descends on hers before she can get any words out.

“It’s only fair,” Sirius says as the bed dips at her feet. “You got off to watching us fuck. Now we’ll be able to get off to fucking you. Tit for tat, as it were.”

Remus’ hands are everywhere on her body. She bucks against his fingers as they toy with her entrance. The gasps that leave her do nothing to relieve the mounting tension in her core and she seeks more friction from Remus.

“Will you put that bloody thing down?” Remus’ wolfish bark almost makes her come on the spot. He turns to Sirius. “Put your mouth on her pussy.”

The camera floats in the air above them after that, moving seemingly of its own accord. Hermione tries to ignore its existence and just revel in the feelings between her legs that are shooting pleasure through her entire body. Remus doesn’t let her dwell on the camera long; he pinches one of her nipples just as Sirius swipes through her folds with his tongue.

She’s fairly sure that she’s going to faint. Her breath is shallow, coming out only in little, unintelligible noises that are swallowed by Remus’ kiss. Never in a million years did she think that their names would leave her in such exaltation, at the height of the orgasm that crashes over her in waves. Her thighs clamp around Sirius’ head and her hand reaches down to tangle in his hair and hold his mouth to her as she rides through the aftershocks.

“Can we fuck her now, please?” Sirius asks when Hermione finally allows him to pull away from her. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and grins a wicked thing that immediately sets her on edge again.

“Fuck her.” She loves the way Remus commands the bedroom. And the darkness in his eyes as he gazes down at her with his cock in his hand. Heat rolls through her. His free hand runs through her curls before taking hold of the roots and turning her head towards him.

Hermione doesn’t need to be told what to do next. She licks her lips and then darts her tongue out for an experimental swipe. He makes a noise in the back of his throat and his fingers tighten against her skull. Sirius pushes into her, stretching her open with his cock, and when she gasps, Remus moves his hips forward in tandem with her face and she’s swallowing him down.

They both groan and pause, seeming to relish in their positions inside of her. Sirius is the first to move, almost entirely out of her before slamming back in. Remus encourages her head back and then forward again until he hits the back of her throat. Her eyes water as his free hand comes down to the side of her face and stroke her cheek.

“Too much?” His eyes flick between hers, but she gives her head a tiny shake. “Thank God.”

The three of them find a delicious rhythm with each other; as Sirius slams into her cunt, Remus’ cock hits the back of her throat and pushes as far as he can before she gags and moans around him. Her name falls like worship from their lips and it spurs her on. She moves her mouth over Remus of her own accord, swallowing him down and sucking him off. Her hips jerk in time with Sirius as his fingers clench on her waist, movements becoming increasingly erratic.

“You’re so good, love,” Remus praises her, growling when she looks up at him through her long lashes, cheeks hollowed dutifully. “Sirius is going to come, can you feel it? I can. He’s trying to hold out for you, but I don’t think he’s going to make it. Help him out, love? Put your hand between your legs and show us how you touched your pretty little cunt to our video.”

Hermione does what he asks and immediately clenches around Sirius. Her muffled shouts are lost as Remus moves faster. She’s about to come again. Quickly coming undone between the two of them. Noises muted by the way Remus filled her mouth. Spit falling out the corner of her mouth. Wetness dripping between her legs and coating Sirius as he moves like a piston in and out of her. He holds her steady as he grunts through his climax.

Her orgasm rips through her; Hermione’s entire body goes rigid as she cries out. Remus chases his release, holding the back of her head and fucking her face until he comes in her mouth. He holds her steady as she swallows every drop.

They are a heap of hot, sweaty, sated bodies. She’s sandwiched in the middle of them, Sirius against her back, Remus’ chest cradling her head. The rhythm of his heart slows and sets a pattern for her breathing. Hangover gone and in its place, the feeling of complete contentment settling into her bones.

“Was that okay?” he asks against the top of her head. “We never planned to take you this way, not the first time anyway.”

Hermione jerks her head back and stares up at him, her jaw slack and eyes wide. “ _ Planned _ ? You planned…  _ this? _ ”

Sirius’ hands caress her side and he chuckles against the back of her neck. “I wouldn’t say we planned it. More like we entertained the idea,” he clarifies and she can feel his smirk. “Many times. While fucking one another into the mattress.”

“Truly, we didn’t mean for you to find our homemade porn,” Remus chuckles. “Though Padfoot did mention that we could  _ potentially _ get you sweet on the idea of us if you were to watch it.”

Hermione twists her neck to look back at Sirius, who’s grinning sheepishly. “Right, about that. I might have purposefully left the video… on. Just in case someone decided to have a snoop through our room.”

“Pads!” Remus jolts against her and then his chest rumbles. “You couldn’t have warned me?”

“I didn’t hear anyone complaining earlier, Moony.” Sirius splays his fingers against her stomach and pulls her flush against his frame. “You weren’t complaining either, were you, witch?”

She brings her eyes back to Remus and shakes her head. No, no complaints from her at all. After months of hearing them through the walls, seeing their scratches and love bites, she thought she’d been going mad.

Amazing, she thinks, how madness often imitates desire.


End file.
